


My Love, You Are Precious To Me

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: Lu Han needs it, and Minseok wants it. And he knows exactly how to make it right





	My Love, You Are Precious To Me

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted in 2013

The stucco digs into Lu Han's back, rubs raw along his hair, the shoulder blades pressed _hard_ against the wall, as he fights to keep his knees from buckling and melts into the delicious, insistent pressure of Minseok's perfect, perfect mouth.

Outdoors, in public, captured in stills by bejeweled iPhones and oversized DSLRs, it's always Lu Han. Lu Han initiating. Lu Han nuzzling closer. Lu Han reaching out to twine their fingers. Lu Han leaning in to breathe him in. Lu Han gripping. Lu Han clinging. Lu Han embracing. Lu Han gravitating. Lu Han wanting more.  Lu Han _needing_ —always, always needing—but disguising it as enthusiastic skinship,  overzealous fanservice.

But behind closed doors, with the ceiling fan whirring in the background and the stucco digging into Lu Han's back, the touches mean more. Behind closed doors, it's Minseok. _His_ Minseok, touching him back. Kneading him slowly through fabric, curling his tongue around his,  humming into his mouth as he slides his hand under the loose cotton of Lu Han's shirt.

Lu Han needs this, and Minseok wants this. And he knows exactly how it make it right.

And behind closed doors, free from the placards and fangirl screams, it's Minseok's breath escaping in delicate half-moans—sounds, Lu Han drunkenly realizes, for which Lu Han is entirely responsible—as he licks along Lu Han's inner cheek and rolls his hips forward in a mind-numbingly amazing grind.

Lu Han's already hard, and Minseok's halfway there. And Lu Han whimpers loudly—embarrassingly so—as he's turned, guided back into his mattress with low, sibilant promises of more.

 _I want to taste you, I want to feel you, I want you_ murmured hot and wet into the seam of his lips as his knees hit the frame and he melts back into blue sheets.

It's Lu Han's only space, his sanctuary, but Minseok's hovering over him. All teasing brushes and warm lips and bird bones and half-lidded eyes and soft moans. Minseok peels back the layers slowly, with whispers of fabric, his breath and lips ghosting over the revealed flesh. Lu Han's cheekbones, the hollow of his neck, his collarbone, the indent of his chest, along each individual rib, the fine hair at his navel.

Lu Han supports his weight on his elbows and lolls his head forward to watch Minseok tug his sweatpants and boxers down, eyes dancing up at him playfully, as he nuzzles the pale, delicate skin of Lu Han's  left knee.

Butterfly kisses inch their way up Lu Han's inner thighs. Slow, painfully slow. Until Minseok is _right_ where Lu Han needs him, right where he's _aching._

Minseok's hand curls lazily as he drops a kiss to just the left, tongue circling with a low murmur in his throat. Lu Han's hands clench hard, nails biting into his palms, as he undulates helplessly into the tight ring of Minseok's tiny fingers. Please, he wants to whisper. Please, I need to melt into you. Please, please, please. I need this. Please, please, please.

But it comes out as something weak and garbled as the elder shifts to lick a long stripe along the underside of Lu Han's cock before gently, slowly tracing the entirety of his length. _Please, Minseok, please_ as his hips cant absently off the bed and Minseok's tongue curls deliberately, deliciously, pressing back against the foreskin with tiny little jabs.

He's wound so, so tight, and Minseok is so, so close that his warm exhalations curl painfully along Lu Han's heated flesh. He _needs, needs, needs_.

"Minseok," he breathes, as Minseok licks his lips idly, _cutely_ , crinkling his nose and puffing out his cheeks before leaning forward to  slick his bottom lip slowly, slowly, slowly along the head of Lu Han's cock.  He pauses to blink up at Lu Han, and it's too precious, too wide-eyed and innocent and beautiful. His lips are heartbreakingly red and wet as they stretch wide before sinking all the way to the hilt.

Minseok has the most beautiful, perfect, perfect, perfect mouth. And his eyelids flutter shut when Lu Han's hand falls heavy on his cheek, thumb rubbing absently along Minseok's left eyebrow with a whispered "baobei" as he urges his hips upwards, silently begs Minseok to take more. _Please_ , just please, more.

Lips crinkling in a half smile, eyes hooded as they open slowly, he guides Lu Han's hand to his hair, to tangle in the strands, as he starts to bob.

Lu Han's chin knocks against his collarbone. He slumps back against his elbows, muscle taut,  bottom lip snagging between his teeth, breath escaping in little whimpers as Minseok sets the pace just right. And Lu Han has to fight the urge—the _need_ —to  come completely undone as he's welcomed into that overwhelming heat.

Sometimes Lu Han wants Minseok to swallow him whole. Devour him completely. Take everything until he's trembling and broken and sobbing. Until he's nothing but sated needs and fragile limbs and numbing security. Sometimes Lu Han needs so, so badly.

And Minseok is a slow, slow unfurling in the pit of his stomach. A hot, hot need consuming his flesh. An achingly beautiful pleasure saturating his veins. As his nose bumps against Lu Han's navel and he swirls, slurps his way around Lu Han's skin.

"Minseok," he manages, consonants slurring, accent more pronounced. "Please, I need…you—you, too."

Minseok pulls away with an audible pop and a subtle smirk as he glides over Lu Han's body. Tugging him forward, Lu Han kisses him hard, deep, exhaling shakily as Minseok grinds down onto him with a slow, fluid, dancer's grace. The gray cotton of Minseok's sweats is soft and slightly damp against Lu Han's bare flesh, simultaneously too much and not enough. Gripping his shoulders hard, Lu Han sucks on the hollow of Minseok's throat—not hard enough to leave a mark, they aren't allowed to leave marks—as he flips their positions, pressing him back into the mattress—his mattress, his sanctuary, his space—but _made_ for a whimpering, flustered, writhing Kim Minseok. He fits a thigh between Minseok's pressing down, as Minseok fumbles with his own clothes. Then it's just skin on skin, and Lu Han is aching for his mouth, for his moans, to be closer, closer, closer.

The head of Minseok's cock brushes against his, and Minseok's voice hitches over his name. Suddenly, painfully sentimental, Lu Han looks down to the trembling man pressed tight underneath him. And Minseok is the most beautiful thing in the entire world. All flushed and fragile, hair messy, eyes hooded but _burning_ at him in the dim fluorescent light. Minseok's chest rises and falls rapidly, skin fluttering underneath Lu Han's lips as he twines their fingers and kisses his way down Minseok's body.

And Lu Han wants to trace Minseok's flesh slowly, reverently. Map out every corner, catalog every indent. Memorize it with his fingertips, his lips, his tongue. Because it's been so many times, but not nearly enough. And he wants to melt into the sticky sweet flavor of Minseok, _his_ Minseok, his love. Needs to, almost.

But what Lu Han calls worship, Minseok calls teasing. So the process, the desire burning hot and insistent in his nerve endings, is omitted, ignored. His bottom lip drags along Minseok's collarbone, catches on a nipple, and his tongue swirls lazily as he noses, slithers his way down to take Minseok into his mouth.

He hums, mouths, _tastes._ Groans at the restless, stuttered thrusts of Minseok's hips. At the way Minseok pants Lu Han's name, arching, tensing. At the hard, hot, hot, hot pressure of Minseok against his tongue, his inner cheek. At knowing that he's the only thing.

Minseok scrambles, bucks, reaches, shoves a discreet plastic bottle into his hands with a breathless "please." Lu Han's fingers rub, circle teasingly, before sliding in. And it's Minseok's turn to need.

Lu Han works him open slowly, gently, mouthing along Minseok's cock, watching the muscles dance underneath Minseok's smooth stomach. Lu Han's breath quickens, and his own hips thrust helplessly against his mattress at the way that Minseok writhes back onto his fingers, his voice airy, desperate.

"Up, up," Minseok breathes. "Up, now."

Minseok grips Lu Han's face between his soft, tiny hands, looks straight at him, eyes open and raw and so desperately beautiful. His fingers are featherlight as they brush the bangs out of Lu Han's face. His kiss is a whisper on his mouth, a slow and chaste molding of lips. Too tender, too sweet, too achingly Kim Minseok, and Lu Han comes slightly unhinged as he angles his hips and slides in.

 

The first thrust is torture. Almost too much. It's so hot, so tight, so slick.

His body melts forward, head falling, lips catching on Minseok's collarbone. And he fights the urge to clench his eyes tight in pleasure because he wants to savor every single beautiful detail. He wants the moment seared in his brain.

And Lu Han feels dizzy, drunk on the way that Minseok's face pinches in pleasure. He swallows thickly, hands clenching on the anchor of Minseok's prominent hips, as he thrusts shallowly.

Lu Han's entire world narrows to the sweaty, beautiful man writhing deliberately beneath him.

Because it's always about Minseok. Always, always, always. But it's taking everything in him not just give into that aching pleasure, that perfect, perfect heat and come instantly, pound Minseok into oblivion.

Because it's shots of electricity, sparking against his veins, his frayed nerve-endings, the place where warm flesh meets warm flesh.

And it's about Minseok, Minseok, Minseok.

Minseok trembles, begs in his arms, as Lu Han focuses on making it right.

 

Lu Han's been alive for 23 years at this point, but he's not really sure it can get much better than this.

Than Minseok entangling him in those beautiful, delicate, surprisingly powerful limbs.

Than Minseok bucking, trembling, undulating, dragging him forward almost desperately to moan into his mouth, mouth at his jawline, scrape along his hair. Offering breathy encouragements, body clenching as he rolls his own hips upwards.

Than Minseok reciprocating, begging, wanting, _needing_.

Than watching the way his head lolls backward, eyes squinted shut, lips slick, mouth hanging open lazily, tongue peeking out, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Like it's almost too much, like it's sensory overload. Like he has to reign it in.

Like just Lu Han's touch, his tongue, his body buried deep inside.

Like he has to say his name over and over and over again to make sense of the pleasure pooling hot and deep inside of him.

Lu Han, Lu Han, Lu Han.

 

"Me," Minseok groans, pushing on Lu Han's chest. Lu Han collapses back into the bed, and Minseok supports his weight on Lu Han's sweaty shoulders, biting his lips as he sinks down on him slowly, slowly, slowly.

He looks so beautiful, all flushed and sweaty, hair sticking to his face in tendrils. Rising and falling. And Lu Han sits up quickly, swallowing Minseok's needy whimper and pulling back to kiss Minseok's eyelids, his nose, the gap between his dark eyebrows.

Minseok's fingers slide along his back before catching on his shoulder blades, blunt nails biting into the flesh for leverage as he rolls his hips down tortuously.  It's slow and fluid, and Minseok is moaning with every drop, working those dancer's hips onto him so _perfectly._

Lu Han pulls him into a lazy, barely there kiss as his hand slides down to grip Minseok's cock, twisting deliberately. Minseok shudders, gasps, rhythm temporarily broken as his head drops into Lu Han's shoulder.

Lu Han takes over again, shifts until Minseok bites down hard, sobbing.

"Right there," he whimpers, his own hand sliding down to replace Lu Han's as he buries his face in Lu Han's chest. "Right there and harder." His voice is raspy and desperate and pleading.

And Lu Han pushes harder, faster because Minseok _needs_. And Lu Han _needs_ and _wants_ and _loves._

 

Sometimes people think that Minseok is using Lu Han, sapping the brilliance and beauty and love. A  parasite, a leech, and he the host. But it's Lu Han. Lu Han that needs. Lu Han that's desperate for it. Lu Han that tries to break him apart so, so slowly, keep him forever in his arms. Lu Han that laps at the side of his neck as he cradles perfection, completion. Lu Han that works on peeling back all the layers, scraping along all the borders keeping them apart. Lu Han that writes poetry with every brush of Minseok's body along his. Lu Han that traces it slowly in the aftermath. It's Lu Han that needs Minseok. To validate his fixation, legitimate his obsession, ignite fires in his veins

It's Lu Han, Lu Han, Lu Han.

 

Minseok slides his forehead against Lu Han's, panting. And it's grazing lips, needy exhales. And it's Minseok breathing shaky Mandarin. With a slow, childlike simplicity, only with the tones all broken and wrong, groaning that Lu Han is his _everything_.

Minseok's hand is going so fast that Lu Han can hear it, and Lu Han wants so badly to hold out for him as Minseok continues to babble in Lu Han's native tongue.

"I want you" melts into "I need you," which breaks, crests into "I love you, Lu Han I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you."

Lu Han thrusts particularly hard, and Minseok falls forward, lips knocking against his, so he can _taste_ his moan—a broken "baobei"—feel every single muscle tense and then release as he comes.

And the endearment coupled with the painfully slick glide of Minseok's walls, the purposeful clench of his lower body is too, too much.

Lu Han sobs, hips stuttering, squeezing Minseok even tighter as he falls apart.


End file.
